Chapter 220
Friday afternoon arrived with the subtlety of a hurricane. The sky over Manhattan was a bruised purple, threatening rain.
Jocelyn stood in her walk-in closet, wrapped in a silk robe. Her hair was done — loose waves cascading down her back — but her body was tense.
She reached for the black dress hanging at the back of the rack. It was safe. It was elegant. It was armor. It said: I am here, but please don’t look at me too closely.
“No black,” a voice said from the doorway. “Not for a victory lap.”
Jocelyn startled. Gaston was standing there, holding a black garment bag. He was already dressed in a midnight blue tuxedo, his white shirt crisp, the studs onyx, his cufflinks glinting under the recessed lighting.
𝖱𝘦а𝗱 𝗳𝘳𝖾𝘦 n𝘰𝘃e𝗅s 𝗈𝘯 𝗴𝗮𝘭ո𝗈𝘃𝖾𝗅𝗌.𝘤𝘰𝘮
“I like black,” she defended, clutching the hanger.
“Black is for funerals,” Gaston said, walking into the closet. “Tonight is a resurrection.”
He unzipped the bag.
A spill of emerald green silk slid out — a slip dress cut on the bias, with a cowl neck and a back that plunged dangerously low. The fabric looked like liquid money.
“Green,” he said, holding it up. “For money. And envy.”
Jocelyn reached out and touched the silk. It was cool and impossibly soft.
“You bought this? When?”
“I have my ways,” he shrugged. “Try it on.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a gentle command.
Jocelyn took the dress into the bathroom. She shed her robe and stepped into the silk. It glided over her skin, settling into her curves as if it had been cut for her body specifically. She looked in the mirror.
The green made her eyes pop. It made her skin look luminous. It made her look like a woman who owned things — not a girl who hid under bleachers.
She stepped out.
Gaston was adjusting his watch — the Patek Philippe she had given him. He looked up.
His hands stilled. His eyes darkened, the pupils dilating until the brown was almost black. He said nothing for a long moment. He simply looked at her, devouring her with a gaze that felt like a physical touch.
“Perfect,” he finally said. His voice was a low rumble.
Jocelyn felt a flush rise on her chest. She turned to the full-length mirror and smoothed the fabric over her hips.
“So, Mr. Alumnus,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Were you popular? Did you rule the school?”
“I was… busy,” Gaston said, moving to stand behind her. He didn’t touch her, but she could feel the heat radiating from him. “Rowing team. Debate club. The usual resume padding.”
“Did you date the Prom Queen?” she teased, watching his reflection.
“I didn’t go to Prom,” he said flatly.
Jocelyn turned around. “Why? Too cool for school?”
“I had family obligations,” he said. His eyes shifted away for just a fraction of a second. It was a deflection. She knew his tells by now.
“Well, tonight is your Prom do-over,” she said.
.